Regarding the Art of Farming
by VeridianRose
Summary: She was here because her grandparents-the ones she never knew and never wanted to know-were dead. Her mother didn't want her to go, but it's not like she has anything better to do. Magical Melody fic.


**Regarding the Art of Farming**

**Um… so I decided to write a Harvest Moon fic. It definitely won't be top priority, but I'll update it when I've got writers block on warriors fics, kay? **

**I don't own anything but Cassandra in this story. **

**January 2nd**

I stepped off the bus, eyes wide open to take in the amazing sight of… a single, splintery bench, a small cobblestone path that led into the forest, and a little wooden sign.

**Flowerbud Village**

**Up Ahead .5 Miles**

"You've gotta be kidding me," I muttered. I was stiff and tired after my long ride here, and I was in no mood to go trekking trough the snow to get to my new home. For a moment, I even entertained the thought of turning around and getting back on the bus, taking it to the next city and making a living there. I could send a letter back to Mom- she'd understand if I didn't go through with this. Heck, she would be thrilled if I didn't.

"Honey? You okay? Wanna get back on?" I turned and looked up at the bus driver, a grey haired woman with maternal tendencies.

"…No. This is my stop. Thanks for driving me here," I finally said.

She nodded. "You take care now." I watched her close the doors and drive off, resisting the urge to chase after the bus.

After standing for a minute, watching my last chance disappear, I turned back toward the small path, pulled my backpack into place, and sighed. "Well, here we go."

. . .

I was here because my grandparents-the ones I never knew and didn't care to know- were dead.

That sounds harsh, I know, but my mother hated her parents, even if I never knew why. All I'd ever heard from her about them were negative things. I never met them, and they never came to visit me, nor did I want them to. Despite it's childishness, I always imagined them with claws and fangs, breathing fire and spouting ugly words. Even now I wondered if it was possible for them to go to heaven with their devil horns.

All of which is to say that we- my mom, my dad, and I- were considerably surprised to receive a letter from them a week before. Well, not from them, but from their lawyer, who sent a short letter offering sentiments for their death and their will. The will didn't mention my parents at all, but it said very specifically that I was to inherit a piece of land in a small village called Flower Bud.

"I didn't think they knew you existed," my mom muttered sourly, reading through the will. She didn't seem at all upset that her parents were dead. Not that I could tell, at least.

She went off onto a long rant about them, which I tuned out expertly.

Instead, I thought about the will. Strangely enough, it sounded like a great idea to me. An adventure, or, at the very least, a change of scenery. Besides, what else did I have to do with my life? I was almost twenty one, working at a local diner. I wasn't planning on staying there much longer, now that I was pretty much done paying off my college fees, but after that, I really had no idea what to do.

"…and why Cassie, huh? Why not someone else, who actually knows about farming? Really, how completely idiotic…," my mother continued, scarcely taking a breath.

"I want to go," I said, interrupting her steady stream of insults.

"What?" She looked at me strangely. "Well, if you have to go to the restroom, Cassie, just go. For goodness' sakes."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I mean…well, go live on the farm."

Mother simply stared, eyebrows raised. After a while, she spoke. "And you know how to run a farm, do you?"

I blushed, embarrassed. I hadn't thought of that. Still, I said, as confidently as I could, " No, but I've helped my cousins on their farm. I'm sure it couldn't be that hard."

Now it was my mothers turn to roll her eyes. "Because helping feed chickens is just like running a farm. Honestly, Cassie, this is a bad idea."

I opened my mouth, though I didn't know what else to say.

At this moment, however, my father decided to speak up," Oh, come on, Abbigail, she's a smart girl. And she's also old enough to make her own decisions. If she wants to go, let her."

What followed that statement was probably one of the biggest arguments that I've ever heard my parents have. Eventually, however, my mother allowed me to go. Of course, I really didn't need her permission to go. But I wanted her approval. I didn't want a relationship like the one she had with her parents.

So I packed my bags and gathered up what money I had, which, sadly, wasn't much. For a going away present, my father bought me a good, sturdy pair of working boots. My mother got me nothing, simply expressing her wish that I stay, and telling me that I could always come back if I wanted to. Both nearly brought me to tears, though I'm really not a person who regularly cries.

Still, I boarded the bus on January first, a day that my father said was "a great day for new beginnings." And after another day of riding the bus, I arrived.

. . .

I had been walking for a while, my face stinging with cold, when I heard someone calling.

"Hello! Are you the new farmer? I've been waiting for you!"

**Ummm, yes. **

**I'll get to those other stories soon, I promise**


End file.
